A/N: Anything you recognize is not mine, it's TPs!
Daine wants to tell him as he straddles her hips, his eyes questioning, guarded. She wants to tell him he doesn't need to be afraid, that he won't hurt her, that it was a long time ago she lost that innocence.
She can't. She's too ashamed.
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Run!
Padded paws hitting the snow, muscles flexing, extending, flexing again. Hindquarters curled up, out, push, thrust.
Ears pricked. Alert, as always, turning, flicking, catching the wind.
The pack!
Brokefang beside her, running, a playful glint in his eye. Suddenly he veers sideways, knocking her off her legs. Stumbling, rolling, finding her footing.
Leaps back, catches his neck, twists him around and under. Wolf games.
Something deep in her awakens as Brokefang nuzzles her mouth in submission. He can sense it, smell the change.
He circles her, wary, moving close, backing away, keeping his head low.
She can refuse.
She doesn't.
Her scent permeates the air, thick with snowflakes. A need fills Brokefang. He mounts, jaws gripping the nape of her neck, front paws scrabbling against her shoulders.
Her hindquarters quiver beneath him, he hears her whine softly, shifting her feet beneath his weight. He pulls off her back and nuzzles the corner of her panting mouth. He howls eerily into the night, his voice a musical tremor against the leaves.
She is pack now.